


The Best Day Of My Life

by Joolzmp7



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Acts of Kindness, Anal Sex, Caring, Coming In Pants, Coming Untouched, Cuddling & Snuggling, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Explicit Sexual Content, Floor Sex, Friendship, Frottage, Happy Ending, Kissing, M/M, Male Slash, Protective Sherlock, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-17
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-10-06 20:18:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10343817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joolzmp7/pseuds/Joolzmp7
Summary: John is having the day from hell, everything goes wrong and he arrives home completely wet and miserable.  He walks through the door to be greeted by Sherlock who does everything he can to make things better.





	1. Chapter One - John

The Best Day Of My Life

By Joolz

 

Chapter One - John

It was the worst day of his life!

It had all started during a night out with Greg the previous evening. They had been having one of their usual Holmes-ranting sessions to relieve each other’s tensions of dealing with the brothers on a regular basis. They were about four pints in and had just reached the stage of comparing what was the most stupid, non-standard-boyfriend move their partners had made when John received a text. This wasn’t one of the multitude he had received from Sherlock during the evening - asking how much longer he was going to be or stating his various levels of boredom. This one was from Sarah telling him that she had been vomiting all day and wouldn’t be able to make it in to the surgery tomorrow for her special children’s clinic and would he be a life-saver and cover for her.

John loved children in general and would more than happily interact with them in small quantities. Sarah’s special clinic, however, was an entire day filled with hundreds of the little buggers and they would all be in various stages of rebellion at receiving unwanted vaccinations and check-ups. Unfortunately, he couldn’t see any way he could refuse as she was always obliging when he had to leave on a Sherlock-based emergency. He text back to tell her that, of course, he would do it and hoped she felt better soon and to let him know if she needed anything.

He’d had to declare a halt to their evening at that stage. If he needed to be at work early, and in a fit state to deal with screaming children, then he really shouldn’t have any more to drink or be up any later than he would be already. Luckily, one of the benefits of spending the evening with Greg, was that they always had transport home laid on by one of Mycroft’s luxurious black cars. This meant that at least he didn’t have to stand outside the pub pointlessly waving his arm in the air for a taxi and wondering how Sherlock managed to do it so effortlessly every time. For all John knew, he probably had a private arrangement with a taxi company and had them discretely follow him around everywhere to be at his beck and call at a moment’s notice. Either that or the man was just magical. John snorted to himself at the ridiculous turn his brain had taken. Definitely too many pints!

When John had arrived home he'd changed straight away for bed but, disappointingly, he had ventured there alone. Despite Sherlock’s earlier assertions of being bored, he had obviously started doing an experiment in John’s absence and was now ‘far too involved to even consider going to bed, John’.

John had awoken with a start to discover himself still alone in bed, with a dry, vile-tasting mouth and an absolutely pounding headache. To top matters off he had obviously inadvertently hit snooze on his alarm clock and he now only had ten minutes to get up, dressed, have breakfast and make the forty minute journey to work. Just great!

He ran to the bathroom for a ‘cat’s lick and a promise’ as his mother used to say when she’d see him rushing out in a morning. He threw on his clothes, swallowed some tablets with water to clear his mouth, put on his coat and shoes and ran down to the street to try his best to hail a cab. When he eventually got one he sat in the back and rang the surgery to tell them he was very sorry to be late but he was on his way and would be there very soon.

As he walked through the door into the surgery, he very nearly turned around and walked straight back out again. The waiting room was heaving with screaming, crying kids and this was even before they’d been near him with his needle. It didn’t bode well. He nodded to the receptionist who raised her eyebrows and delicately shook her head at him. His head drooped resignedly and he grabbed the first set of notes and made his way back to his consulting room. He took off his coat, dumped his bag behind his desk, got out his first tray of supplies that the nurse had left ready for him and buzzed in the first patient.

Hell – he was in hell! The only thing he was focused on now was that it was nearing five o’clock and he only had four more to get through. He had been thrown up on not once, not twice but three times, and the last one hadn’t even been his patient. It had been the baby sister of his patient, sitting quietly in a carrier seat. John had bent down to smile at her and she had chosen that exact moment to projectile vomit her recently consumed milk back into his face. He had lost his jumper to the first episode, his shirt to the second and now he could feel the vomit dripping down from his face onto the scrub top into which he had changed.

By the time John had changed yet again and finished his last patient it was five forty five and he had had way more than enough. He had only had half a sandwich all day, which he had grabbed as he’d walked through the break room after changing for the second time, and he was starving. His headache had been hovering all day as he hadn’t had enough water to hydrate himself after last night’s drinking and had only managed one cup of tea which had been cold by the time he’d eventually drunk it with a couple more tablets. 

John put his coat on and heading out. He managed a grateful smile to the receptionist when she told him that Sarah had rung in to say she was feeling better and would be back tomorrow so he didn’t have to come in again until his next scheduled shift on Friday. It was the first pleasant thing that had happened all day. Maybe things were finally looking up.

He quickly changed his mind when he got to the door and saw that the rain was pouring down outside and he’d rushed out of the house so quickly that morning that he only had his thin jacket with no hood and no umbrella. He turned up his collar and shrugged his shoulders up to his ears to try and keep them covered and ventured out. It was almost a mile to the nearest tube stop so he set off, trying to hop over the worst of the puddles on his way.

John was already dripping wet and chilled through by the time he got to the tube and the joy of his day was just cemented when he saw the barriers up announcing the station was closed for maintenance and to please use the replacement bus service instead. He looked round for the temporary stop and there was a bus already there, the last person just getting on board. He had just reached the door when it closed in his face and the driver looked out and shook his head, pointing to how full the bus was and shrugging his shoulders. John stepped back from the kerb, the rain dripping down his wet forehead into his eyes, just hoping that the service was frequent and he wouldn’t have to wait too long.

By the time thirty minutes had gone by with no sign of another bus he didn’t think he could get much wetter. He was wrong. As he finally saw another bus heading towards him from the end of the road he stepped forward towards the edge of the kerb to put his arm out. A passing Porsche sped right by him, straight through the middle of a huge puddle, sending a spray of water up as high as John’s head, covering him completely and leaving him standing in a pool of water looking as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. The spray had gone down the front of his coat and he could feel his scrub top sticking to his chest. There had been so much of it that it had even slid down into the top of his trousers and his pants felt as if he had had an unpleasant accident; he was completely soaked through.

When the bus pulled up in front of him, he stepped back from the kerb as it slowed - though he wasn’t really sure why he bothered, a bit more water could do nothing to make things worse now. The driver looked at him doubtfully as if he wasn’t sure if he wanted to allow this drowned rat on his bus. John was taking no chances on being refused though; he was straight on there and marched down to the nearest free seat before the driver could change his mind. The lady he sat next to edged even closer to the window, clearly not wanting to be anywhere near this wet mass dripping on her seat. She quickly got to her feet when she, thankfully, neared her own stop, squeezing carefully around him, and nobody else bothered him to try and take the vacant space.

John got off the bus when they reached the stop nearest to the Baker Street tube. He was physically shivering now as the cold wind blew against his wet clothing. He was finding it hard to get his legs to cooperate and start walking the half mile home; his psychosomatic limp had even decided to make a surprise appearance, too, just to finish him off. He eventually managed to instigate a sort of shuffling hobble back home which took him twice as long as his regular pace.

He pushed the front door closed behind him and leaned against it for a moment, looking up towards the seventeen stairs in front of him and wondering if it might not just be easier to collapse here and spend the night with his head resting on the bottom step. Only the thought that, hopefully, Sherlock would be home when he reached the top of those stairs impelled him onwards. He grabbed hold of the rail and almost hauled himself up each one, his teeth still chattering as they tried to adjust to the slighter warmer air in the hall.

As he reached their door and went for the handle, it opened seemingly by itself and he was hit by a blast of warmth from the fire he saw blazing in the hearth in front of him. He shuffled forward, as if drawn in by that mesmerising heat source and vaguely felt the door close behind him. His coat was pulled from his shoulders and his arms were raised as the scrub top was pulled over his head. A towel was draped around his neck as the hands moved down to remove his trousers, pants, socks and shoes in one go. He knew he shouldn’t really be allowing himself to be stripped by unseen hands but he was too far gone to realise half of what was happening; he just stood bemusedly looking at the fire.

A thick towelling dressing gown was pulled on to his body and the towel round his neck was raised to cover his head and he was towed forward to sit in his chair which had been turned to face the fire. Only when he was seated, his scalp having been rubbed vigorously to dry his hair, and his body starting to thaw out in the heat of the fire was the towel removed and he saw the vision of Sherlock kneeling in front of him holding a cup of tea.

John’s fingers twitched as though he would reach towards his flatmate if he could. Sherlock correctly interpreted the movement and put the cup of tea on the table beside John, and leant forward to envelop him in a deep hug. John’s nose rested in the crook of Sherlock’s neck and he inhaled the essence of everything that was Sherlock and he finally started to relax. Everything was right with the world. He had Sherlock and he was home.

~*~


	2. Chapter Two - Sherlock

The Best Day Of My Life

By Joolz

 

Chapter Two - Sherlock

Sherlock gave John plenty of time to relax as they remained connected for a long while. Sherlock would never admit it to anyone else, but he enjoyed cuddling as much, if not more, than the next man. He presumed it must be from a dearth of bodily contact throughout the rest of his life, but whatever the reason, since he had been with John, he participated in it wholeheartedly. He had started doing it seemingly reluctantly, making a show of sighing every time John lingered with his arms around him. He’d moved from there to instigating a hug by saying in a resigned voice, ‘oh come here, John, I know you’ll want to do that thing’. Now words were no longer needed and they both indulged as often as possible and Sherlock found himself enjoying it more every time.

He loved leaning in to John when they were watching frivolous rubbish on the telly. He would settle in the corner with John sat between his legs, resting back against his chest. He would tilt his head to rest on John’s shoulder, cheek against his hair and just breathe in John’s scent. His arms would wrap around John and every so often John would turn his head and press a soft kiss against his cheek.

Sherlock’s other favourite position was when John sat at one end of the sofa and he would lie across the rest of it with his head in John’s lap. John would always run his fingers through Sherlock’s dark curls and he found it so relaxing that he would often drop off to sleep. John needn’t think that Sherlock hadn’t noticed that he often enticed him to adopt that position whenever he thought Sherlock had been without sleep for too long either. He’d noticed; he just liked it so much that he willingly chose to do it and he certainly wasn’t acceding to manipulation in any way, whatsoever; so John could keep those little smirks to himself. He’d noticed that, too, but chose to ignore it.

What he liked to indulge in most when John was stroking his scalp, was to lie with his head facing inwards to John’s body so he could look up into John’s face and watch the little smiles he gave every time he glanced down at Sherlock. When Sherlock woke up in this position he would often find that John had dozed off, too, and he took great delight in slowly waking him up. He would start by breathing over his crotch, the heat making John twitch and smile in his sleep. He would progress to taking the rapidly enlarging organ into his mouth, material and all, and see how long it would take for John to actually wake up and realise what he was doing. His best effort had been when he had taken John all the way to completion and John had only woken up when he had been coming in his pants, a bewildered but satisfied expression on his face.

Sherlock could tell that John was hungry, thirsty and worn out from his day and he had measures in place to cover all of those factors but he decided that starting with some pleasant endorphins would go a long way towards improving John’s day. He had anticipated what state John would be in when he’d realised what clinic John was covering and what the weather was like that day. John never took taxis when he was on his own, unless in dire circumstances, and Sherlock had, of course, known about the tube closures, too, so the bedraggled state of John’s arrival had been no surprise.

Sherlock had laid some pillows and a blanket out in front of the fire which John hadn’t even noticed yet. He leaned back and kissed John on the nose and smiled at him. He handed him the cup of tea, which he knew was always a priority with John, and when John finished it in one go, it proved to him how desperate John had been.

Sherlock pulled John forward to the edge of his chair and used his deceptively not inconsiderable strength to lift John up and lie him down on the pillows; the heat of the fire warming his skin through the towelling robe. John made as if to resist but Sherlock shook his head minutely, their unspoken knowledge of each other being enough for John to know it was all taken care of and to let Sherlock handle everything.

Sherlock was in his blue dressing gown and he made swift work of sliding it down his arms and off his body as he sat straddling John. It said a lot for John’s state of mind that he hadn’t even noticed that Sherlock was naked beneath it. Sherlock loosened John’s own robe and kissed his way up John’s sternum and neck, taking a long taste when he reached John’s lips. Whilst John was distracted, Sherlock positioned himself over John’s pelvis and slid himself down John’s shaft until he was fully seated. He had prepared himself before John had come home so he was able to manage it in one long slide and he revelled in the deep groan that John released between their joined lips as he felt Sherlock’s hot passage surrounding him.

Sherlock sat up and held on to John’s hands, using that as a balance as he lifted himself almost completely off John and slid back down again, faster this time. He looked into John’s eyes, already seeing the lust building as John watched him back, eyes never deviating from Sherlock’s own. They carried on like that for some time; Sherlock raising himself up slowly before ramming back down, causing moans and puffs of air to leave John’s throat each time.

When Sherlock judged that John was getting near he leant down to kiss him, wanting as much body contact as possible. John raised his knees, feet flat on the floor, to give Sherlock something to push against and to improve the angle for Sherlock, making sure to hit his prostate on every thrust. Sherlock loved this position and liked to come from just the friction of his own cock rubbing between their bellies. He rested his elbows on the floor next to John’s head and John brought his hands up to Sherlock’s hips to help propel him forward. 

It didn’t take long 'til both of them were nearing their climax. Sherlock wanted John to come first as this was all about him so he tightened his inner muscles, squeezing John on each thrust. That was enough to set John off and he cried out as he emptied himself inside Sherlock. Sherlock kept pumping his hips feverishly, rubbing his cock against John’s body. When John was recovered enough to open his eyes he looked up at Sherlock and smiled his special smile that showed Sherlock that he was the most important person in John’s life. That smile meant more to Sherlock than anything and it was all he needed to tip him over and he was coming all over John’s stomach.

Sherlock rested his head in the crook of John’s neck, enjoying the scent and warmth of his lover. John’s arms encircled him, rubbing small circles on his back until Sherlock had recovered enough to move. Sherlock reached for the towel he had used to dry John’s hair and cleaned them both up. He pulled John to his feet, re-fastened his robe and eased him down onto the sofa. He pulled on his own robe and went into the kitchen to get a cold beer from the fridge – John’s favourite brand, which John knew hadn’t been there this morning.

Sherlock brought him his drink just as the bell rang downstairs. John watched as Sherlock went downstairs – voluntarily - and came back up carrying takeaway from their favourite Chinese restaurant. He plated up their meals and sat down next to John and proceeded to actually eat most of his meal with John looking on, blinking bemusedly. When they were done Sherlock took out their plates, made them each a cup of tea and put on a James Bond movie as he sat back down next to John and pulled John’s head down to rest on his shoulder.

John sat back up for a moment, leant forward to give Sherlock a long, slow kiss and looked into his eyes. Sherlock smiled back at him, knowing what was coming; just as he’d known all along what had happened to John today and exactly what he had needed to make the world right again.

John spoke the first words he had uttered since he’d arrived home. “Best day of my life!”

~*~

Fin

~*~

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to A
> 
> Hope you enjoy. :)


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